


All That Separates a Martyr and a Masochist is a God

by lamentomori



Series: Everything Tends Towards Entropy [5]
Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 21:23:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13749507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamentomori/pseuds/lamentomori
Summary: Failure is something Hiromu is painfully familiar with; the Naito that interrupts his shower isn't.





	All That Separates a Martyr and a Masochist is a God

 

The cameraman is staring at him. He’s staring back, clinging to the bench, his eyes are hot, his breathing is heavy, his throat is dry and scratchy. A young lion hands him a bottle of water, and an ice pack is pointlessly pressed to his neck. A man in a shirt looks at his clipboard, then at the cameraman, and finally at Hiromu. He looks annoyed. The cameraman pulls a pack of paper tissues from his pocket. He tosses them to Hiromu. The young lion who’d given him water is still there, hovering nervously. He wants to shake him and tell him what his father had.

_Get a real job! Your mother wants grandchildren, Hiromu. Apply to University, and get a real job._

His father was a wise man. He takes a paper tissue from the packet, and tosses it back to the cameraman. He gets to his feet, and walks away.

“Hiromu-san is always so honest in his reactions… I hope one day I can be as open.” He hears the young lion gush at that cameraman. He wants to shake the stupid child even more.

_I’m gonna teach you._

He learnt as much as he could from Naito, but it still wasn’t enough. Again. He’s never enough. Never. He’d been a stupid child, he became a stupid man. A stupid man who is never quite enough, who is never quite capable. The very king of almosts. He’s almost good enough, he’s almost capable, he’s almost succeeded. The one thing he can always do is almost.

“Your phone’s blowing up.” Bushi doesn’t look at him. He’s glad, because he’s a mess. The skin around his eyes feels tight, his cheeks too. His dried tears have left their mark. _Always so honest_ is one way to describe his inability to keep himself under control. “Taichi kicked the shit outta Naito, by the way.” He’s gathered up most of what he needs for a shower, his phone in the centre of the bundle. He knows who’ll have been blowing it up, but he’s not sure what will have been said. Birdie might be annoyed that Hiromu lost, he might be worried about him, he might not have watched at all. If he thinks on it for a second Hiromu knows the answers to all of these question, but he’s not sure he’s in the right place for Marty’s concern. Marty will be concerned. He’ll want to FaceTime. He’ll want to be able to look Hiromu in the eye, because Marty is one of the woefully few people who can read him. Birdie can look at him, and know how when to push, or when to back off. He’ll make this seem less like the end of the world, but Hiromu wants to cling to his apocalypse for a little while.

“Oh.” It’s not the response Bushi was expecting, because he turns to look at Hiromu. He seems concerned. Hiromu shakes his head. Bushi comes over, and hugs him anyway. He doesn’t resist. He stands still, and lets Bushi make himself feel better about the situation. He knows that’s what this really is about. Bushi can see he’s upset, but Hiromu is plays the role of an emotional rollercoaster so well that even his teammates don’t know what is and isn’t real emotion, so they just assume the most obvious one is the real one. Naito would have known. The old Naito. The Naito that took him aside as a young lion. The Naito who kissed him like he was precious. The Naito that believed in him, that cared for him. “I’m gonna…” Hiromu trails off, and flaps the towel in his hand. Bushi holds him out at arm's length for a moment, then nods, going back to whatever he was doing.

The shower doesn’t run quite hot enough. He wants it so hot it feels like his skin is being sluiced off. The water isn’t going to make him feel any better, but it’s nice to pretend that every miserable little taunt his own mind is summoning up could be washed down the drain. Every harsh word he’s ever heard, every reminder in the dojo of how awful he was, every exasperated sigh from his mother or scathing look from his father about his grades, every teasing child who mocked him in kindergarten for his big mouth, little eyes, and flat nose, all of them, all at once. The only counterpoint to all of it is the Naito of long ago.

_I’m gonna teach you._

He was taught. He’s learnt. Maybe Naito is still teaching, but Hiromu stopped being a good student, if he ever was. He can almost hear Marty laughing at him, can almost feel his fingers running through his hair, murmuring nonsense about Hiromu’s shampoo, and how nice he smells. Marty isn’t trying to do anything to him, except maybe save him from himself for a moment, but that’s exactly what he’s doing too. He hadn’t gone to Marty with solely the intention of fucking him. The desire had been there, but he’d gone to offer what he saw as good advice. He was already so far down the path Marty was looking to start on with Omega. It was only kind to tell him to turn back. His father had been right all those years ago when he’d called him a fool.

The shower room door opens, closes, and the lock clicks. He wonders if Naito noticed the involuntary wince he just gave.

“Bushi said you were hurt.” He doesn’t turn around. He hopes Naito is going to do one of two things. One, the most preferred, shower and leave. Two, the most likely, fuck him hard and fast, then shower and leave.

“I need you.” Naito’s lips moving over the skin of his back, hands on his hips, his breath warmer than the water falling on Hiromu's head. None of the situations he’d expected. “Please, Hiro. I need you.” He screws his eyes shut, and hopes he didn’t wince again. “Hiro?” Whispered in his ear. “Hiro?” His breathing is too fast, he can hear his blood rushing in his ears. Naito’s kissing at his neck, soft kisses, kisses that _hurt_. Taichi must have done quite a number on him for him to be doing this. Naito lets him go, and comes around, the water flattening his hair to his skull. He looks like a cat that’s fallen in a river. His hands frame Hiromu’s face for a second, then he’s pulled to Naito’s chest, his hands running down Hiromu’s back. “I need you.”

“You said.” Hiromu manages to force out the most pointless words he’s ever said. He’s no idea what the empty tone was supposed to mean, no idea what the words themselves are even supposed to convey. Naito squeezes him tighter, and presses a kiss to the side of his head

“I need you.” He repeats, but doesn’t clarify. He shifts Hiromu in his arms, drawing him into a kiss. It’s always easier to go along with Naito. It would be so much easier if he wasn’t kissing him like this though. He doesn’t need Naito kissing him like a memory. He’s damaged enough tonight. His ego, his belief, his body, all of him, tangible and less so, is wounded. He’d tried _so_ hard. He’d based so much on his winning, and Will beat him. It doesn’t matter that he poured _everything_ he had into that match, it doesn’t matter that he’d come _so_ close, what matters is that he wasn’t enough. Again. “Hiro.” Naito’s pulled back enough to look at him. He touches Hiromu’s cheek lightly, like he was afraid of Hiromu running. “I need you with me.” Naito doesn’t blink enough. He never has, but Hiromu has always felt like it’s worse with him. In the beginning it’d been sweet, like Naito couldn’t bear to look away from him for a second. Now, it feels like Naito is staring at his soul, evaluating it, considering if it’s still worth anything at all to him.

“I’m here.” Naito shakes his head at that, and traces a thumb over one of Hiromu’s eyebrows.

“I know you’re there...I _need_ you here.” He leans forward, and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I always need you, you know that, right?” He’s staring in Hiromu’s eyes, searching for something, and Hiromu has no idea if it’s there or not. He’s no real idea what’s going on at all. Naito smiles slightly, and shakes his head. “C’mere.” He pulls Hiromu into another kiss, closer to how it is usually, but different, the side of different that Hiromu had convinced himself he wanted when he was a young lion. All the tenderness of the past, mixed with all the desperate need of the now. One hand trails down his back, squeezing his ass, the other stays on his cheek. "Stay with me." Naito breaks the kiss to whisper that, then once more kisses Hiromu. He's not sure what's gotten into him, the last time Naito was even close to this attentive was in Mexico, back when everything was as together as it's ever been in Hiromu's whole life. He'd been so happy with Naito in Mexico. Everything was exactly how he wanted it, but then he came home. He should have stayed in Mexico, but he didn’t, so now he should get out this situation. Nothing good for him is coming from this. There's nothing but miserable phone calls to Birdie on the other side of this encounter.

“Naito...I’m tired and sore, and Bushi said you were jumped...you gotta be sore too.” Hiromu subtly steps back, testing the strength of Naito’s grasp. Naito’s hands drop. A look flickers in his eyes, something hurt and afraid. “Shower, and we can get out of here.” He forces a bright smile to his lips, one that feels far less fake than he was expecting, because it brings a smile to Naito’s face.

“Did Bushi say who attacked me?” Naito starts showering with Hiromu’s shower gel. It’s a little thing, but it’s confusing. If they share a shower, Naito will _make_ Hiromu use his stuff, not the other way around. Hiromu nods vaguely, and hurries up with his bathing, keeping one eye on Naito.

“He did...why is Taichi attacking you?” He’s not sure he cares. He might, he might not, he’s not considered the situation more than cursorily.

“Does it matter?” The look on Naito’s face says it matters a great deal, but Hiromu knows he’s not going to be told. Information is dispensed on Naito’s whim, and Naito is prone to keeping tight-lipped. He reaches out to Hiromu, his soapy hand smoothes over his shoulder. “I’m gonna beat the shit out of him.” Hiromu nods vaguely. It doesn’t matter why Taichi attacked, it matters even less that he’s going to get beat up. The normal apathy in Naito’s expression is gone. In its place is how he used to look, all the emotions all at once. “C’mere, Hiro.” Naito pulls him closer, and rests his forehead on Hiromu’s shoulder. Without thinking about it Hiromu wraps his arms around him, holding him closely. “See? I need you, Hiro.” Naito pulls away with a laugh. He gives Hiromu a smile he’s not seen in years, soft and warm.

“Naito...let’s just clean up, hmm? Bushi’s out there, and Sanada...he’ll want a shower too.” Hiromu steps away from him, and gets on with washing. His new plan is simply wash, and get out of here. Naito is either playing with him, or teaching him, or genuinely trying to hurt him. None of these three situations end well for Hiromu.

“Good point.” Naito’s tone is light, but Hiromu can’t bring himself to look up at him. It’s safer for him to just bow his head, and get on with what he needs do. When he gets to his hotel room, he’s going to chance a call to Bridie. He’s not looking forward to seeing what Marty makes of his failure. Marty will be kind. He’s always kind to Hiromu, even when it would be better for Marty to be harsh with him, he’s always gentle. It’s always a surprise. It shouldn’t be, because it’s happened so many times, but he’s always taken aback by Marty _fondness_ for him, then again he’s taken aback by his fondness for Marty. He’s so much like Hiromu, balanced on a wire over an abyss. “Hiro.” Naito’s watching him, a distant look in his eyes. “I need you with me.” Naito gives him a tight smile. Hiromu rinses his hair. His towel, and his phone is in the corner, he wants both infinitely more than he wants Naito to look at him with that expression on his face.

“I’m here.” Hiromu mutters, stepping away from the shower spray, and going to make a start on getting dried. He can feel Naito’s eyes on him, as heavy as wearing every one of his fur coats all at once.

He escapes out to the locker room, unnoticed by a fuming Evil, and a distracted Bushi. Evil heads to the shower. Hiromu dresses quickly, and takes his seat by Bushi to watch Sanada’s match. He loses. He comes back to the locker room looking tired, and blank. He ruffles Hiromu’s hair on the way to the shower. Hiromu considers pulling his phone out of his pocket to check on what Marty’s saying, but it feels like a bad idea. Marty is _his_ friend, and even tangentially it seems wrong to drag him into the Ingobernables locker room.  He'll check when he gets to his hotel room.

“Next time, guys.” Sanada calls out as he leaves. Hiromu takes that opportunity to slink out behind him, hoping no-one notices him. He’s not so lucky. He knows the sound of Naito’s footsteps better than his own.

“Hiro.” Naito’s hand lands on his shoulder, his fingers digging into his flesh. “I need you...please.” Hiromu nods slightly, agreeing to whatever it is Naito needs from him. He hopes it’s fast. For the first time ever, he’s hoping for the sort of night where he ends up half-suffocated in a hotel pillow. He can’t take a night of these slow, gentle lies. It hurts. It hurts far more than he can admit, even to himself.

Naito leads him to his hotel room. Most of the way, he’d taken a hold of Hiromu’s hand, seemingly unwilling to trust Hiromu to follow him. Inside the room is where Hiromu expects everything to return to normal, no more of this painful taunting softness, no more of this achingly cruel harking back to the past. He’ll be face down in a pillow as usual, and Naito will throw him out once he’s done. In the room, Naito hesitates. His thumb moves over the back of Hiromu’s hand, his eyebrows drawn in thought. He turns to Hiromu, and pulls him closer. His free hand tangles in Hiromu’s hair, not pulling, not forcing, just curved around Hiromu’s head. Naito’s eyes run over his face, and Hiromu hopes he looks pleasantly bland rather than utterly unnerved as he feels. He kisses Hiromu softly, barely touching his lips to Hiromu’s. Then, he lets Hiromu go to take off his coat, and toe off his shoes. Hiromu follows suit, hoping that this is a sign that everything is returning to normal. This isn’t what he’s used to. It almost certainly couldn’t be much worse.

“C’mere, Hiro.” Naito perches on the edge of the bed, and holds a hand out to him. Hiromu hesitates for a second, but concedes, coming to him slowly, hesitant, fearful of what’s going to happen. Naito wraps his arms around Hiromu’s waist, pressing his face against Hiromu’s stomach. He shoves Hiromu’s shirt up, then starts murmuring against his skin. “I forget,” is the only thing he can make out in the whispered words. He doesn’t think they’re for him to hear, not really, they’re for Naito. This whole moment is nothing to do with Hiromu really, like so much between them since Mexico, it’s all for Naito. He shoves Hiromu’s shirt up further. Hiromu takes the initiative and removes it, resisting the silly urge to neatly fold it. The thought of neatly folding his clothes as Marty had done the first time makes him snicker softly to himself, drawing Naito’s attention to his face. A single finger traces over his lips, chasing away the remnants of the smile that the thought of Marty had conjured. Naito looks almost offended, and presses his face to Hiromu’s stomach once more, leaving Hiromu no idea what to do with his hands. He could do all manner of things with them, but Naito looks like he needs something from him, some kind of compassion at the very least, so Hiromu pets his hair. Naito’s hair is always pleasantly soft, for all it looks like a wiry mess of steel wool; it’s actually a tangle of soft floof. Naito looks up at him. There’s little but exhaustion on his face.

“You should sleep.” It’s impossible to resist the urge to map Naito’s features. He knows them _so_ well, but he’s not been allowed to touch Naito’s face like this in _so_ long. “You look...washed out.” He finishes lamely. His mind had summoned up a sweet analogy about watercolour paintings, but Naito probably wouldn’t appreciate Hiromu rambling nonsense at him. Naito’s eyes fall closed, a slight smile spreads over his lips. “You don’t need me, you need sleep.” Hiromu laughs softly. Naito crinkles his nose, and opens his eyes.

“I need you, Hiromu.” He catches Hiromu’s wrist, letting it go only to entwine their fingers. He presses a kiss to their fingers, smiling against them. Naito keeps saying that, but he’s no idea what Naito needs him for. His mind can summon up a thousand things it might be, but none of them are good. Naito untie his pants, pushing them down his hips, kissing the skin that’s uncovered. Once the last of Hiromu’s clothes are off, Naito pulls him down to the bed. He sits beside Hiromu, and strokes his hand down Hiromu’s chest. He leans over to kiss Hiromu. The sound of a drawer opening, and the quiet puff of sound of something hitting the bed, then the sound of a lube bottle opening. Naito breaks the kiss, and eases a slicked finger inside Hiromu, pressing it against his prostate. A second eases into him, and Naito starts stretching him open. Naito’s fingers keep working inside him, moving in and out, stretching him, teasing him, getting him ready to be fucked. “Feels good, Hiro?” Naito ducks his head, his breath is warm and damp against Hiromu’s ear. His free hand is tracing over Hiromu’s chest, leaving shivery sensations in his fingers wake. He presses particularly firmly against Hiromu’s prostate, drawing an almost reluctant cry from him. “Yeah, that feels good, doesn’t it?” Naito laughs to himself, teasing Hiromu more. It feels good. It always feels good with Naito, even when it’s too hard and too fast it’s good, but this is better. This is what it _was_. The only difference is Hiromu knows that this isn’t going to last. This is a strange one off that serves some mysterious purpose for Naito, or it’s some cruel lesson for Hiromu. Naito pulls away from him to strip, his eyes not leaving Hiromu as he undresses.

“C’mon, I’m ready.” Hiromu spreads his legs a little more, trying to look as seductive as possible, and actually feeling fairly seductive. He’s ready to be taken, ready to endure what Naito gives him. It’s a fearful thing though. If it’s more of this, more of this slow and delicate, it’ll feel wonderful, but will ache even more when Naito kicks him out. It would be better for it to be normal. Naito settles between his thighs, and touches his cheek softly.

“Don’t forget, Hiro. Don’t forget how much I need you.” He eases inside him. His hands cling to Naito’s shoulders, his legs wrap around his waist, pulling him to him. It feels like tonight he’ll be allowed to cling to Naito, cling to memories that he usually has to shove to the back of his mind.

“N-”

“My name, Hiro...say my name.” Naito whispers into his ear. Hiromu genuinely can’t remember the last time he said Naito’s actual name. Naito’s thrusting into him slowly, staring at him, waiting to see what he'll do. He wonders if Naito is aware of how under his control Hiromu is, he'll always do as Naito asks.

“Tetsuya?” A soft smile, a gentle pet of his hair, and a deeper thrust. “Tetsuya.” Hiromu pulls him down into a kiss. Naito moans into the kiss, his hands slip under Hiromu’s shoulders, holding him close.

“It sounds good from you.” Naito pecks him on the tip of his nose. He takes Hiromu’s cock, stroking him lazily. It’s been a long time since Naito thought to touch Hiromu. It’s the most welcome of the surprises that Naito’s bestowed upon him tonight. His hips move in time with Naito’s thrusts. Hiromu laughs softly. This is the best it's been in years, the most important he's felt to Naito since Mexico. His hands tangle in Naito’s hair, holding his head far away enough for him to _try_ to read Naito’s intentions. He can’t. He used to be able to, years ago, but now he can't read a thing. “Will you cum for me?” Naito speeds his hand up. “You’re cute when you cum, Hiro.” Naito laps at his throat.

“Cute?” Hiromu laughs, and digs his heels into Naito’s back. This feels dangerously close to how it was. He’s dangerously close to believing that he has the Naito he’s mourned for _so_ long returned to him. The Naito that cares for him, that treasures him, that _loves_ him. If that Naito was returned to him, his heart would soar, but Marty. That thought. The thought of Marty with his kind eyes, dashing smile, and freely given laugh precedes Hiromu’s orgasm. When it passes he stares up at Naito. Naito’s looking at him with a fond smile. He kisses Hiromu lightly, whispers cute in his ear, and sets to reaching his own climax. Naito cums inside him, cradling his body close, with a quiet murmur of Hiromu’s name. Once Naito’s recovered a little, he shifts slightly, easing his spent cock out, and rests on top of Hiromu once more. He shifts so his head is against Hiromu’s chest, his ear over his heart.

“Your heartbeat is always so soft, Hiro.” Naito’s voice is low, little more than a whisper. “Fast or slow, it’s always soft.” Naito presses a kiss to his chest. “I like it though...I like that you have to _listen_ to hear what it’s saying.” Hiromu lies still, hoping his heartbeat isn’t giving away his aching confusion. Naito shifts off of him, and lies on his side beside him, staring at Hiromu.

“I should go?” He says softly, not meaning for it to be question, but it was. Naito is in a strange mood tonight. Usually Naito would turn over, and fall asleep, but tonight he’s barely taken his eyes off of Hiromu. This Naito might want Hiromu beside him, this Naito might want to hold him close, this Naito might want him to stay. Naito moves Hiromu’s hair from his eyes. He’s staring, something Hiromu doesn’t know in his expression. “Naito?” It feels like Naito’s been staring at him for hours. He barely reacts to Hiromu’s utterance of his name. “I…” Naito purses his lips, closes his eyes, and turns his back on Hiromu. Normal Naito has returned. Hiromu gets out of the bed, and starts pulling his clothes back on. He can feel Naito staring at him. It’s the only thing that’s different from normal.

“Hiro?” Naito calls from the bed, and Hiromu pauses at the door. Silence. He’s not going to try and guess at what’s going to happen. Naito’s been throwing him all night. Any other night, Hiromu could predict what would happen, but this Naito has been more than unpredictable all night. Hiromu’s fingers flex on the door handle. Naito still hasn’t spoken. He sighs, and Hiromu winces. His eyes screw shut, his lips press tightly together, and he steels himself for what might happens next.

“Yeah?” He can’t let the silence linger any longer. He hears the blankets shift, and Naito pad over to him. Hiromu can’t bring himself to turn around, facing Naito seems like too much. His mind is reeling from Naito’s actions, and it’s own. He _always_ thinks of Naito when he cums. His mind had drifted to Marty; it had lingered on his warmth, his kindness, his indulgence, his _need_ for Hiromu. He knows Marty needs him, more importantly, he knows _why_ he needs him. Naito might say he needs Hiromu, but he has no idea why, or if that's true.

“Hiro…” Naito’s fingers brush the tips of his hair. He can feel them dance over the back of his neck.

“What, Naito, what?” He forces the words out, not wanting to endure anymore of this. It’s hurt all night. This mockery of what they had, of what Hiromu’s wanted for so long, isn’t what he wants. He doesn’t know what Naito’s been doing all night. He wants this to be real so badly, but it's not, it can't be.

_I’m gonna teach you._

It rises in his mind, the words of the Naito of old. His earnest smile, his unwavering focus, his _belief_ in Hiromu. If Naito is still teaching him, he can’t bear this lesson any longer. He doesn’t understand it, and Naito has become a terrible teacher. Naito touches his neck with the tips of his fingers, a delicate caress, and withdrawal, the ghost of that touch lingers on Hiromu’s skin.

“Sleep well, Hiro.” Naito sounds pained. Hiromu nods rather than answering. He's almost glad that it sounds like Naito's lesson is hurting him too. It almost feels like retribution. He slips out of the room and away. He wants to get lost, but he can’t. He doesn’t know where he is, they’ve got commitments tomorrow, but he wants to be away. His own room is his only refuge. He needs to think. He needs to try to understand this painful lesson. He needs to think on Marty. He needs to understand what’s happening there. His heart can’t be so desperate for affection that it would latch on the first man who shows him even the slightest amount of care.

In his room, he considers another shower, he thinks so much better in the shower. He can feel Naito’s leaked cum drying on his skin. His hair is undoubtedly a mess. His skin feels too small, or too big, something that isn’t quite right, and the water might fix that, but he can’t face it. He needs something else. As pitiful as it is, his heart truly has set itself to the first person to show it any affection in years.

He calls Marty. It barely rings before the call connects, and the screen shows a concerned looking Marty. His skin is oddly pale beneath his tan, his eyes ringed with dark smudges, like he’s not slept, and run his hands through his hair a million times. A smile blossoms on his lips at the sight of Hiromu, but fades quickly.

“Are you okay?” He doesn’t even let Hiromu open his mouth before he’s asking the single most difficult question to answer. Hiromu looks at the screen, his bottom lip between his teeth. Marty sucks air in through his teeth. “I’m so sorry I’m not there, Hiromu.” The level of sincerity in that statement surprises Hiromu.

“I… I’ll be okay.” He forces a smile to his lips. Marty looks at him. Even so far away, Marty has the ability to read him. “I’ll… It’s not just everyt _hing_ that’s falling apart, Marty.” Hiromu whispers. Marty looks pained. Hiromu turns away from his phone, not really wanting to see how far he’s dragging Marty down with him. His mess is almost all of his own doing; Marty’s is the influence of others. He should let Birdie free. This is his mess, Birdie can fly free away from him, Birdie can fly away from the abyss.

“Didn’t I say I had you?” Marty sounds firm, like he believes what he’s saying, which is exactly the opposite of what Hiromu had just told himself he wanted, but he'd told himself a hollow lie. He wants Marty. _I’m gonna teach_ _you_ had been delivered with aching sincerity too. How far removed from that moment has his relationship with Naito become, how close had it been tonight. “We’re all we’ve got, Hiromu. I’ve got you, and _you’ve_ got me. Together, we’ll be okay.” Marty laughs softly. Hiromu turns back to the screen, and doesn’t have to force a smile to his lips, it forms naturally. It’s not often someone relies on him for something important. It’s even rarer that he’s sure that he can rely on them too.


End file.
